


when i met you in the summer

by hellalujah



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Breaking in to public pools, Day At The Beach, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Road Trips, Summer Camp, Summer Writing Prompts, drunk make outs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellalujah/pseuds/hellalujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen days of summer themed writing prompts!</p><p>Challenging myself to write happy things in all different pairings. Tags will be added as they come up and pairings can be found in the chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. took a wrong turn during a roadtrip - polysquad+mat

“So you guys do this… every year?”

“Mmh,” Porter scuffs his shoe against the asphalt thoughtfully. “We try to do it twice, usually. Dillon and Anton started it a couple of years ago and roped me into it, and then Hugo decided to fly in for the last one and had such a good time that he wanted to go again.”

Mat eyes him. “And Dillon always drives?”

Porter shrugs. “It’s his car.”

They’re quiet for a moment and Mat listens to the distant sound of Dillon and Anton bickering a ways down the highway.

“Did he get this lost last time?” Mat manages once he gets tired of watching Anton beat Dillon with the road map.

“Last time he used his GPS. But it directed him down a bunch of back roads and he was sure it was going to be some kind of stranded-in-the-middle-of-nowhere horror movie situation,” Porter sighs. “So he plotted his route out personally.”

“Fat lot of good that did,” Mat says under his breath.

Porter laughs and gets an arm around Mat’s shoulders. “I think maybe he was trying to impress you with his sick map reading skills, since it’s your first roadtrip with us.”

Mat feels heat rise in his face and he doesn’t think it’s just the sun. He’s trying to come up with a response but the car door opens and Hugo comes staggering out a second later.

“Where are we?” he yawns, scratching sleepily at his hair. “Are we there yet?”

“Does it look like we’re there?” Mat grumbles, and then gestures at the desert around them.

Hugo looks around blearily and then yawns again. “Guess not.” He sidles up behind Mat and wraps his arms around his waist, rests his chin on the top of his head. Porter snickers at them and Mat sulks quietly. He still isn’t used to it but apparently being the shortest makes you Hugo’s chin-rest.

He complains about it normally but it’s kind of nice, even if Hugo smells like Cheetos and the Starbucks he’d spilled on himself earlier.

“He has no idea where we are,” proclaims Anton when he stomps back over, Dillon a few steps behind.

“I do so!” Dillon protests. “We’re like, probably still in California?”

“We’ve only been driving for _six hours_ ,” Anton hisses. “Of _course_ we’re still in California. If you didn’t manage to head the exact _opposite way_ we were supposed to go and drive us to fucking Mexico or something.”

Dillon sniffs. “Come on Anton, it’s not just my fault! No one else noticed, and you were _sleeping_. You were supposed to be my co-pilot!”

Anton’s eyes flash and Dillon cowers, goes wisely silent.

“So what, turn on your GPS and let’s get going,” Mat mumbles. Hugo’s fingers dig into his stomach in an encouraging way.

Anton and Dillon are quiet for a moment. “Are you going to tell them?” Anton asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the car. He’s staring at Dillon with an intensity that makes Mat shudder.

“Uh,” Dillon giggles nervously. “Like. There’s no service out here?”

They’re all quiet for a moment. An actual tumbleweed rolls by and Mat regrets every decision he’s ever made.

Then Hugo starts snickering into Mat’s hair.

“Your worst fear realized, Dill,” he huffs. “Guess you should’ve taken those back roads after all.”

Dillon lets out a little whine. “You have no idea what could be out there! Have you ever _seen_ The Hills Have Eyes?”

“This is more Hills Have Eyes than where we ended up last time,” Porter muses, surveying the area. “That bunch of bushes over there looks pretty suspect.”

Dillon moans. “Porter, _don’t_.”

“He’s right,” Mat says solemnly. “I think I saw something moving out there, didn’t you, Hugo?”

Hugo nods and then tilts his head to rest his cheek against Mat’s hair. “Yup, definitely mutants out there.”

Even Anton is laughing by now and Mat cracks a little smile.

A car honks at them a little ways away and they all jump. Hugo makes a distressed noise when Mat tugs away from him and then goes to lean sleepily on Porter instead.

“Does that car have Texas plates?” Mat says as it approaches. “Are we in _Texas_?”

“There’s no way,” says Anton. He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just dumbfounded.

Dillon groans again and buries his face in his hands. “We’re all going to be killed by Texan axe-murderers and it’s _all my fault_.”

The car pulls up next to them and every stereotype Mat has seen of the South leans out. A lady wearing a plastic visor and massive sunglasses grins out at them.

“You boys have a breakdown?” she asks.  
  
“Something like that,” Mat hears Porter mutter under his breath and Mat snorts.

“We’re just a little lost,” says Anton, plastering a sweet smile on his face. “We were on our way up to Oregon from LA and I guess our driver must have taken a wrong turn.”

The woman just looks at him for a moment before she bursts out into a round of obnoxious laughter.

“Honey, did you hear that? They’re on their way to _Oregon_. From _Los Angeles_.”

The man in the driver’s seat’s laughter is nearly identical to his wife’s. “How did you manage to get here from Los Angeles?” he hoots. “Y’all are in Arizona!”

There’s a pregnant pause and Mat wants to crawl into the desert and die, maybe.

“Arizona?” Dillon repeats weakly.

“Yep,” says the woman once she manages to stop laughing. “You all would’ve passed through Laughlin a few miles back. Didn’t you notice?”

Dillon very carefully does not look at Anton. “Guess not.”

The man snickers. “Well, if y’all keep heading east you’ll end up in Kingman, but if you head north it’s only about an hour’s drive to Vegas.”

“That’s where we’re headed! For our fiftieth wedding anniversary,” she says, turning to bat her lashes nauseatingly at her husband.

“Turn off’s in about twenty clicks,” the man says, putting the car into gear. “Good luck, boys!”

The car peels out and Mat squints against the dust cloud it kicks up. No one speaks for a long moment.

“So,” Dillon says sheepishly. “You guys wanna go to Vegas?”


	2. felt something touch foot while wading in ocean - dillport

“Man, what’s the point of a beach day if you’re not even going to go in the water?” Dillon shouts from the water.

Porter shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Lots of people like, tan or whatever.”

Dillon rolls his eyes and wades in to where the water is only up to his waist. He squints at Porter. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt - probably Dillon’s, come to think of it - and a frankly ridiculous hat. Dillon thinks he must have stolen it from an old lady. 

Anyway, he can’t imagine Porter getting much of a tan like this.

“Come on, you don’t even have to swim, just wade a little bit,” Dillon tries. “It’s really nice, I promise.”

Porter scoffs. “It’s probably _filthy_ is what it is,” he grumbles. “People dump all sorts of crap in there, plus also like, sharks.”

Dillon doesn’t say anything for a second, just stares.

“Are you scared?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

Dillon can’t see Porter’s eyes behind his sunglasses but he’s pretty sure he’s being watched warily. They stare at each other for a long moment until Porter sighs deeply and heaves himself up off their beach towel. Dillon grins.

“Come to daddy,” Dillon coos, reaching out.

Porter shoots him a sharp look. “Do _not_ ,” he snaps. He’s curling his toes in the sand as he walks, Dillon can see, and it’s so endearing that he wants to run over and kiss Porter _immediately_.

It takes him almost a full minute to get his feet in the surf. Dillon watches patiently as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, peers doubtfully into the water.

“It’s niiiice,” Dillon prompts, splashing around reassuringly. “Nice and warm, mmm, feel that ocean goodness.”

Porter snorts. “Stop, oh my god.” He takes another few tentative steps out and Dillon comes a little closer to meet him.

“I guess this is alright,” Porter says reluctantly when the water is up to his knees.

“I told you-,”

“FUCK!”

And then Porter is leaping at Dillon and Dillon’s barely able to catch him but suddenly Porter is in his arms pointing accusingly at the water.

“Something touched my _fucking_ foot,” Porter moans. “What the _fuck_.”

Dillon gapes, distracted by his armful of boyfriend.

“Dillon,” Porter hisses. “There’s something in the water.”

“Yeah,” says Dillon weakly. “Probably, like, a fish?”

Porter glares up at him and then goes a bit pink when he realizes the position they’re in. A little smile curls his lips.

“Dillon Francis, you’re my hero,” he purrs, batting his lashes from over his sunglasses.

Dillon grins. “All in a day’s work.”

Porter’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and Dillon feels his smile go soft, leans in to kiss him and -

“Fuck!” Dillon yelps as something brushes by his ankle underwater. He flails wildly and topples backwards into the water.

It’s not deep but he’s submerged for a second and when he manages to sit up Porter is sputtering and splashing around. His hair is plastered to his face and his sunglasses are gone and he looks a bit like a drowned rat.

Dillon starts laughing.

“You _suck_ ,” Porter spits, eyes flashing. He fishes around until he finally comes up with his sunglasses and starts trying to shake water off of them. He looks so disgusted and dismayed and Dillon can’t stop laughing.

Porter splashes at him sulkily. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever, what the fuck,” he mumbles.

Dillon crawls over to him, still grinning, insinuates himself into Porter’s space. “I loooove you,” he croons before he leans in and kisses Porter, licks the salty seawater flavour from his lips.

Porter makes a muffled protesting noise against his mouth, gets his hands up to push at his chest half-heartedly before Dillon feels him sigh, and then he kisses him back.

This day is turning out to be pretty good, Dillon thinks, and then something swims in between them and they both shriek.

Dillon agrees when Porter says it’s time to leave.


	3. missed spots when putting on sunscreen - dillgo

“I think maybe I fucked up,” says Dillon very quietly.

Hugo is examining his arms. He looks a little awed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a sunburn quite like this.”

“Hugo,” Dillon tries. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

And then Hugo starts laughing.

“That bit kind of looks like a cat, doesn’t it?” he says through his giggles, points at an angry red patch on his arm.

“Yeah, a little,” Dillon says, pursing his lips. “Are you okay? Do you have heat stroke? I can get you some water like I’m really-,”

Hugo cuts him off with another little giggle. “This part looks like an ice cream cone.” He glances up at Dillon and grins encouragingly. Dillon smiles back tentatively.

“That one looks like a palm tree,” he manages, pressing his finger to a tree-shaped patch of white on Hugo’s thigh.

“You’re right!” Hugo exclaims, then hunches over to examine it more closely. He stares at his red skin for another moment before glancing up at Dillon with a glint in his eye that makes Dillon’s stomach drop a bit. “You know, you didn’t do such a good job on yourself either, did you?”

Dillon’s on his back before he knows what’s happening. He can smell the tequila on Hugo’s breath, can’t help the whimper when Hugo noses at his cheekbone and lips brush across his jaw.

“Let’s see what sort of pictures you’ve got,” Hugo says in his ear, breathless, before he yanks Dillon’s t-shirt up.

Hugo’s hands are cool against Dillon’s burnt skin - and he must be burnt, he must be otherwise Hugo’s touch wouldn’t feel so simultaneously soothing and electric - and another little sound shakes out of him as long fingers run down his ribcage.

“This is kind of like a smiley face,” murmurs Hugo, fingers dancing across Dillon’s torso. “And this is a bird!”

Dillon gets out a weak laugh. “I can’t even see from here,” he gets out. He tries to sit up a bit but Hugo’s straddling his hips and when he moves Hugo shoots him a look.

“I’ll trace them for you,” Hugo says, and the smile on his face goes from sweet to a bit wicked. A fingertip drifts across Dillon’s stomach, just to the side of his bellybutton. “This is the wing, feel it?” he says softly, then bites his lip and tilts his head. “The wing and then the head, the beak.” His fingers ghost back up to where his ribs start and Dillon trembles.

“I feel it,” Dillon croaks. “It’s definitely a bird.”

Hugo’s gaze flicks up to Dillon’s face and his grin widens, just a bit. “I was lying,” he whispers as he leans forward, elbow coming to rest next to Dillon’s head. “That one was the smiley face.”

And then Hugo’s kissing him, not wasting any time with the way he’s nipping at Dillon’s lip and flicking his tongue against his teeth, and Dillon moans as softly as he can. Tries to keep himself carefully controlled. His hands come up to wrap around Hugo’s waist, press into his back, and he can’t help noting the way his skin is radiating heat. He imagines his is doing something similar and when Hugo’s chest brushes against his it hurts but it’s good somehow, the sting of the sunburn.

A second later Hugo pulls away, tongue darting out across his own lips in a way that makes Dillon want to grab him by the hair and pull him back down. He lets his hands come to rest on Hugo’s hips instead, watches the way his red skin goes white under his fingers.

Hugo tilts his head again, the other way this time. Presses a finger to the centre of Dillon’s chest.

“This one kind of looks like a dick,” he says, and Dillon groans.


	4. lost something (shoe, sunglasses, phone) in sand at beach - dillmau5

They’ve already been driving half an hour by the time Dillon reaches into his pocket and freezes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, starts squirming in his seat and patting himself down.

“Watch the leather, Christ,” Joel snipes from the driver’s seat. “What’s your problem?”

Dillon feels around under the seat for a moment before looking guiltily up at Joel. “I think I left my phone at the beach.”

Joel groans and rolls his eyes. “It’s probably just in your bag or some shit, we’ll check when we get back.”

“It’s not, I know I had it on me,” Dillon says a little desperately. “Please, Joel, we have to go back.”

“I’m not sifting through what will almost definitely be several square kilometres of sand for your phone, dude, just buy a new one,” Joel grunts, shaking his head. Dillon can see where his knuckles are going white on the steering wheel and Dillon feels like a dick but he  _really_  needs his phone. 

“I  _just_  got this one before I came up here,” Dillon says, voice cracking. “I won’t be able to get another one till I get home. What if my mom tries to call?”

Joel rolls his eyes so expansively that the car swerves a bit and Dillon lets out a little squeak of terror. 

“Call your mom from my phone,” Joel grumbles. “Use your fucking brain.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. 

“Joel, please,” Dillon begs, voice tiny.

Joel curses and then is suddenly pulling the most aggressive u-turn Dillon has ever been involved in. He thinks maybe he screams, definitely ends up clutching at the ceiling of the car and the seat. 

“I said  _watch the leather,_ ” Joel snaps. 

-

The sun is almost hidden behind the treeline when they get back to the lake and Dillon hopes desperately that they’ll be able to find his phone before it gets completely dark. 

Joel smokes and stares out at the lake, brooding while Dillon shuffles up and down the shoreline. 

When he makes his way back to Joel the sun has nearly set and he kicks at the sand sulkily, then looks nervously up at Joel. “Do you remember where we were sitting?”

Joel shoots him a look. “You lost it, it’s your responsibility.”

Dillon feels a bit like crying so he just stares down at his shoes. 

“Don’t pout, Jesus, you know I can’t handle it when you pout,” Joel grumbles and Dillon jumps when he brushes by a second later. 

He stalks off down the beach and Dillon watches him for a moment before following. 

Joel stops and bends, picks something up. 

“Is this it?” he calls from down the beach, holding up Dillon’s brand new iPhone. 

Dillon squeals and runs at him, wraps his arms around Joel’s skinny waist and picks him up in a tight hug. 

“You found it!” Dillon shouts as he spins in a circle. “You found it, you found it,  _thank_  you!”

Joel makes an disgruntled little noise and flails his legs. “If you don’t put me down I’m throwing your phone in the lake, and then  _you_  after it.”

Dillon sets him down but he’s still grinning as Joel grumpily hands his phone over. It’s covered in sand but it still works when Dillon presses the home button. 

“Thank you so much,” Dillon says, leans in to risk dropping a quick kiss on Joel’s cheek. 

Joel goes a bit red, to Dillon’s delight, then starts digging around in his pockets for his cigarettes. He smokes quietly and Dillon fidgets with his phone, ducks his head to hide his smile. 

“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” Dillon murmurs after a beat of silence. Joel hums, just barely audible over the sound of the water sloshing against the shore. The horizon behind the trees is orange and red and in the darkening sky Dillon can see the first couple of stars of the night starting to twinkle into existence. 

Then Joel looks up at him and a little smirk pulls at his lips. He exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Gonna have to drive pretty fast to get back before midnight,” he says.

Dillon squeaks with barely concealed terror.


	5. trying to gain access to public pool after hours - dillmat

“Don't you have a pool at your house?” Mat hisses as Dillon tugs at the gate. 

“Uh-huh,” says Dillon, casual. “It's being cleaned.”

Mat crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot on the concrete. “And you can't wait till that's done to go swimming.”

“Nope!” says Dillon brightly, then turns and grins at Mat. “Have some more tequila, loosen up a little.”  
  
Mat rolls his eyes but comes over to where Dillon's set his bag and digs out the bottle of Patron, chugs back a few shots. He scrunches up his face when he's done, glances back up at Dillon who is now kicking at the chain link fence. 

“Just climb over, dude,” Mat says, voice rasping a little with the liquor.

“Uh, I'm not great at climbing, really,” Dillon says after a moment. “Not really...” He waves his hand around vaguely. “Dexterous?”

Mat rolls his eyes. “Christ,” he hisses through his teeth, then takes another swig of tequila and shoves the bottle into Dillon’s hands, steps forward. 

Seconds later he's scrambling over the fence, dropping heavily to the ground on the other side while Dillon makes an impressed little noise. 

“Can you open the gate?” Dillon calls softly. Mat can barely see him in the dark, only illuminated by the eerie glow of the pool lights. 

It doesn’t take long for Mat to find the latch on the inside of the fence, push the gate open. Dillon slips in, silent and grinning. He brushes against Mat as he passes and Mat shivers.

“Is the pool even heated?” he asks once he’s gathered himself, once he’s turned to follow Dillon across the concrete. Dillon’s already stripping out of his shirt and Mat forces his eyes away before he can get a good look at what he knows are taut muscles under smooth skin.

“Maybe?” Dillon shrugs. He doesn’t sound like he cares and when Mat looks over again he’s shucked off his shorts as well. 

He’s just standing there, peering into the pool. It's hot out, still, even at night. But Mat shivers again anyway. The tequila is sitting on the ground a few feet away and he goes to it, clutches it to his chest before taking a warming sip.

A dark shape flies past Mat and he flinches, turns to look and blanches when he realizes it’s Dillon’s underwear.

He forces himself to turn back when he hears Dillon splash into the pool. It takes him another second and a long drink from the tequila bottle to actually go closer and by then Dillon has surfaced and is grinning up at him.

“It’s heated!” he reports. “It’s really nice, actually, you should come in.”

Mat shakes his head but toes out of his sneakers and sits down at the edge of the pool, tugs off his socks and dips his feet in. 

“Not much of a swimmer,” he says, then holds the Patron out to Dillon. 

Dillon takes it gratefully and tilts his head back, takes a long swallow. Mat catches himself watching Dillon's throat bob and forces himself to look away again. 

Dillon finishes drinking and sighs noisily, comes over to set the tequila on the ground next to Mat. He smiles up at him and Mat stares back.

“Why did you call me?” he asks quietly. It’s maybe not what he’d meant to say but it’s what comes out and his cheeks warm.

Dillon nudges up in between Mat’s legs and tilts his head. Rests his elbows on Mat’s knees. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends hang out.”

Mat watches him hazily. He’s probably a little more drunk than he should be, maybe they both are, especially considering Dillon drove here. Dillon’s gaze drifts over his face and Mat’s pretty sure his eyes linger on his mouth so he looks away, grabs the tequila again. 

The only sound for a moment is the water still sloshing around in the pool, a couple of crickets nearby.

“Why did you come?” Dillon asks and Mat flinches. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

He swings one leg in the water until Dillon’s hand drifts down and grips his calf. 

“I wanted to, I guess,” Mat gets out, voice small.

Dillon’s hand is damp when it comes up under his tank top, to clutch at his bare hip. Mat shivers but he doesn’t pull away.

“I like you,” Mat blurts before he can stop it.

Dillon grins, so wide that it makes Mat’s heart ache. 

“I like you too,” he says, and then Mat’s hunching over to catch Dillon’s mouth with his own. The angle is awkward but Dillon’s hand is still on his hip and Mat’s curling his fingers in Dillon’s wet hair and Dillon tastes like chlorine and tequila and he’s  _warm_.

They break away and Dillon’s other hand is cupping his face now. Mat can feel Dillon’s breath puffing out against his skin and he sighs, fingers tightening in Dillon’s hair.

“C’mere,” says Dillon into Mat’s mouth, and then Mat’s being lifted off the edge of the pool and into the water, a dismayed little noise slipping out of his mouth as his shorts and shirt soak through. But Dillon’s nosing against his cheek a second later so he just wraps his legs around Dillon’s waist and clutches at his shoulders.

Then they’re kissing again, open-mouthed and warm and damp and Mat’s  _soaked_  but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Dillon’s mouth on his, Dillon tongue sliding over his tongue and across his teeth.

He’s distantly thankful that he left his wallet and phone in the car.

They break away again, panting. Mat presses his forehead to Dillon’s and the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is Dillon smiling.

“I’m glad you came,” Dillon murmurs, so close Mat can feel the words against his skin.

“Yeah,” Mat says, bumping his nose into Dillon’s. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Dillon echoes, and then kisses Mat again.


	6. got caught playing playing in the neighbour’s sprinklers - jakejon

“It’s so fucking hot,” Jake groans into Jon’s stomach.

“Maybe you should get your AC fixed,” Jon grumbles as he fans himself with a magazine. “How can you live in LA with no air conditioning?”

Jake groans again and turns his head to look up at Jon. “All the repair companies are busy, I’ve tried calling.”

Jon pats consolingly at Jake’s cheek and then slaps the magazine down on the table.

“Beer,” he says after a pause. “We need beer.”

It takes all of Jon’s willpower not to just stick his head in the fridge and stay there when they go to get the beer but he manages. They each shotgun one over the kitchen sink and then carry the case outside to sprawl out in the yard.

“Don’t you have like sprinklers or something?” Jon slurs after a while and Jake hesitates.

“They’re broken too,” he mumbles sheepishly. He takes a sip of beer and sits up, sways a little. “My life is a shambles.”

Jon snorts and sits up next to Jake, chugs the rest of his beer. It’s quiet up here, where Jake lives, not much traffic and enough trees that the yard is fairly private.

There’s a hissing noise, though, cutting through the silence, and Jon perks up.

“Do you hear that?”

Jake grunts. “Hear what?”

Jon heaves himself to his feet and staggers forward a couple of steps. “I hear… water.”

-

“You’re both in your _thirties_ ,” Shara hisses as she slams a bowl of apple sauce down in front of Ezra. Ezra jumps but stays wisely silent. “What were you _thinking_?”

Jake and Jon are both quiet. For a moment the only sound audible in the living room is their soaked clothes dripping on the hardwood.

“It was hot,” Jon tries. “Everything here is broken?”

Shara’s eyes flash and Jon ducks his head.

“I don’t even know how the neighbours got my number,” she says, voice so cold it almost cuts through the oppressive heat in the room. “But to get a call from them saying that my husband and his friend are _running through their sprinklers_ -,”

“We were wearing clothes,” Jake interjects. His voice breaks mid sentence and Shara turns her glare to him.

“Oh, thank god, that makes it so much better that I had to come home from my best friend’s baby shower to convince the neighbours _not to call the cops_!”

They both flinch as she picks up volume, shuffle unconsciously toward each other. She rolls her eyes and huffs, exasperated. Maybe he’s just drunk still but when Jon glances past her Ezra is looking at them with a disapproving expression.

“We’re sorry,” they say at the same time.

Shara stares at them for a moment and huffs out another sigh.

“You’re children,” she snaps. “I should spank the both of you.”

They both flinch again but for an entirely different reason. Shara notices. She looks up at them, eyes glinting.

“I guess I know what we’re doing tonight,” she says, voice soft but threatening.

This time Jon reaches over and links his fingers with Jake’s. Jake squeezes his hand nervously.

It’s not the worst punishment, Jon thinks.


	7. got on the bus to the wrong summer camp - gazmat

Mat’s not sure why it takes him so long to notice.

He gets on the bus and he’s got his earphones in and he went to camp last year with no problem but when he looks up, two hours into the trip…

He realizes maybe he’s gotten on the wrong bus.

The people seated around him are a little rough looking, at least more so than the ones usually on his camp bus. He swallows. Hunches down in his seat a bit.

“Mat?”

Mat jumps and looks wide-eyed up at the guy talking to him. He looks oddly familiar, big and ginger with earrings and a lip piercing. Mat swallows again.

“Yeah,” he manages.

The guy grins and slides into the seat next to Mat without asking. “It’s me, Gaz. Remember?”

Mat remembers.

Gareth, better known as Gaz, who had been kicked out of their boarding school when Mat was still in his sophomore year. He’d only had half a year left but had been expelled for… dealing drugs? Fighting? Mat doesn’t remember. All he remembers is he’d been terrified of Gaz, initially, him and his creepy goth friend. Rob, or something.

And then Gaz had saved his ass when some unoriginal douchenozzles were trying to give him a swirly.

He’d walked in just as they’d been wrangling him into the stall - and it’d taken four guys to hold him, he was flailing around and fighting so hard - and Gaz had just come in and started hollering. The boys holding Mat had dropped him and Mat’s head had knocked off the wall of the bathroom stall and he’d been sitting there, dazed on the dirty tile floor, as Gaz chased them all out.

Gaz had helped him up with a charming, reassuring grin, taken him to the nurse’s office to get checked up on and then disappeared.

He’s just finished his junior year and no one has bothered him since that time, even though Gaz had been expelled not too long after the bathroom incident.

“Yeah,” Mat says eventually. “I remember.”

Gaz beams at him. “I didn’t think you were much of a troublemaker - maybe scrappy but not enough to get you sent out here.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Mat asks hesitantly.

Gaz stares, confused. “Reform camp. For troubled youths.” He shoots Mat another little grin. “I didn’t ever think you were particularly troubled, for what it’s worth.”

Mat stares down at his lap and swallows heavily. “I got on the wrong bus,” he whispers, mostly to himself. Gaz hears and cocks his head.

“The wrong - were you meant to go to like, _actual_ summer camp?” Gaz cackles, and Mat glares.

“I was supposed to be a counsellor this year,” he bites out. “Maybe I still will be if I don’t get _killed_ at fucking juvenile delinquent camp.”

Gaz gets his hands up in a placating way. “Whoa, whoa, chill Matty. Troubled youths do not equal juvenile delinquents.” He jams a thumb at himself. “Just look at me, I did what I did for the power of good.”

Mat stares at Gaz until his cocky smirk falls off his face. He reaches out and awkwardly pats Mat’s shoulder.

“Anyway, they’ll send you back as soon as we arrive, I’m sure,” he says. Then smiles again. “Would’ve been fun to catch up though.”

Mat scrubs at his face with one hand. “How long is this bus ride anyway?”

Gaz glances down at his watch and then back up at Mat with one of his annoyingly charming grins. “About another two hours.”

Mat groans.

-

True to form, Gaz has a flask of whiskey on him that he shares with Mat. They pass it back and forth, taking surreptitious sips until Mat’s feeling pleasantly warm and hazy. He doesn’t drink, really, thinks probably his mom would actually send him to reform camp if she caught him.

But, well, when in Rome.

“So like,” Mat slurs, leaning his head on the seat ahead of him to look sideways at Gaz. “Why did you help me that time? You know-,”

“In the bathroom?” Mat nods slowly and Gaz tilts his head. When Mat squints he could swear Gaz is going a little pink. “Dunno. Just don’t like seeing people pick on people who are smaller than them, I guess.”

Mat watches him for a moment and then reaches out for the flask. Gaz hands it over and Mat takes another sip, then leans forward. He can smell Gaz this close, whiskey and some kind of spicy soap and maybe cigarettes. It’s nice.

Mat shakes himself.

“Why did you get kicked out of school?” he blurts.

And then Gaz is smiling again, seems to be smiling a lot and Mat thought maybe it was the alcohol but when he thinks about it Gaz’d always smiled at him a lot in school as well.

“I beat some guys up,” he says, shrugging and taking the flask back. He drains it and jams it in his pocket.

He’s definitely pink now, Mat isn’t seeing things.

“Which guys,” Mat asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

Gaz glances at him, shrugs again. “The guys who were always picking on you.”

Mat gapes.

Gaz shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“ _Why_?” Mat breathes.

“I-,” Gaz ducks his head and laughs, embarrassed. “I had a crush, I guess. That’s weird, sorry.”

Mat stares at him, blurry with alcohol. He’s quite good looking, really. Nice smile, nice body. Mat wonders why he hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ve never dated anyone,” Mat says abruptly, and Gaz whips his head around.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t mean like we should _date_ -,”

“Oh,” says Mat, and it comes out more disappointed than he’d expected it to. And he is disappointed, though he’d never really thought about Gaz that way before. About anyone, really, until now.

He looks down at his lap and frowns.

“I guess I’m gay,” he says, a little awed. “Huh.”

Gaz jolts again. “That’s uh… I mean… same?” he manages.

He sounds flustered and Mat looks up at him and blinks slowly. “Do you still like me?”

Gaz watches him warily for a second. “Yeah?” he says, like he’s unsure if it’s a trick.

Mat grins up at him. “We should go on a date, like, if I don’t die at juvie camp.”

“It’s not _juvie camp_ ,” Gaz sputters, then shakes his head. “Are you just saying this because you’re drunk, cause-,”

“Take me on a date,” Mat says sharply, and then he punches Gaz in the shoulder.

Gaz stares at him and Mat could swear his pupils turn into little hearts.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Gaz says eventually, rubbing his arm.


	8. staying in a cabin for the weekend and hearing a noise at night - zeddeon (ft dillport)

Hugo wakes up in the darkness of their rental cabin to a strange scratching noise somewhere outside. He rolls over to place a hand on Anton’s shoulder and shake him gently.

“Did you hear that?” Hugo whispers near Anton’s ear.

Anton grunts and turns his face into the pillow. “No.”

Hugo listens for another moment, blinking in the dark, then presses his nose into Anton's hair and hums. He closes his eyes.

A moment later there's a thud and the sound of hushed voices. Hugo's eyes come open again and he sits up in bed.

“What about _that_?” he says, looking warily at the door. Anton makes an annoyed sound and waves his arm around until his hand slaps against Hugo's chest.

“It's probably Dillon and Porter banging, Jesus, Hugo,” he grumbles, muffled in the pillow. “Go to sleep.”

Hugo keeps his eyes trained on the door, barely visible in the near pitch black room. It's quiet again.

Maybe too quiet.

Hugo's just turning back over to wrap around Anton when there's a knock on their door.

“Shitting fuck,” Anton hisses, jerking up and nearly knocking Hugo in the face. He's up in seconds, tossing the sheets aside. Hugo watches him go, dazed for a moment.

“Anton, wait-,”

Anton throws open the door and Dillon shrieks, jumps about a foot in the air.

“What do you _want_ ,” Anton snaps.

Dillon cowers. “Uh, you, you're uh-,”

“I'm what!”

“You're naked, cher,” Hugo reminds him from where he's wrapping a sheet around his own nudity.

Anton growls. “Whatever. What's your problem, Dillon? What time is it anyway?”

“About three in the morning,” comes Porter's voice from just behind Dillon. When Hugo squints he can see his shape in the darkness of the cabin living room, face carefully turned away from Anton.

“I'm _tired_ ,” Anton bites out. “What could you possibly need at three in the morning?”

Dillon squeaks. Even in the dark Hugo can see how red he is.

Hugo sighs and scoops up another sheet, takes a moment to drag his eyes down to Anton's ass appreciatively before he gets up and carefully wraps the sheet around him. Anton shoots him a look and Hugo grins.

“Distracting to all, for different reasons,” he murmurs in Anton's ear before pressing a little kiss to his temple.

Anton rolls his eyes.

“Dillon thinks he heard something outside,” says Porter. He sounds more calm than Dillon, but maybe a little shaken.

“It was probably a squirrel, or something,” Hugo says, shrugging. “We're in the middle of the woods, there's bound to be some animals out there.”

Dillon shakes his head, eyes wild. “What if it's a _murderer_?”

Hugo and Anton stare at him. Porter hesitates before reaching out to link hands with Dillon.

“I'd expect this from Dillon,” Anton scoffs, voice dripping with disbelief. “But you’re more sensible, Porter.”

Porter’s face tightens and he looks away. “The outdoors is sketchy as hell, man, there really could be anything out there.”

“Yeah, like a murderer,” Dillon says miserably.

Anton is shaking his head, opening his mouth to say something, and then -

There's a scratching outside the front door.

They all jump.

“We're gonna die,” Dillon whispers.

Anton huffs out an exasperated breath. “It's just an _animal_ ,” he says, pulling away from Hugo to head for the door. “I'll show you, it's just a raccoon or some shit.”

“Anton, maybe-,” Hugo starts, but Anton is already yanking the door open.

What can only be described as a _legion_ of raccoons turn to look at them simultaneously, eyes flashing in the moonlight.

Anton slams the door and is back next to Hugo before anyone can blink.

“I told you,” he says shakily. “Just. A raccoon.”

Hugo pats his back consolingly and Dillon and Porter look at each other. Then Dillon smiles weakly.

“Y-yeah,” he says. “Well, good night, I guess. Sorry for waking you.”

And then Dillon and Porter head quietly back to their room. Hugo can see their hands still linked, white knuckled with the tightness of their grip.

Anton is still staring hazily at the front door, shaken.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Hugo says gently and Anton nods, though he doesn’t look like he’s actually processing any words at the moment.

Hugo gets him tucked into bed again and slides under the sheets himself. When he’s settled Anton is still staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I’ve never seen that many raccoons in my life,” Anton whispers, voice thin. “Why were there so many of them?”

Hugo shuffles over a bit to drape an arm across Anton’s chest, presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I don’t know, cher, probably they just wanted our garbage.”

Anton doesn’t seem mollified, and he just keeps staring into the dark.

Eventually, as Hugo is falling asleep, he hears Anton muttering to himself, “why were there _so many_?”


	9. bought a slushie and took too big of a drink and got a brainfreeze - portgo

“Porter,” Hugo groans and flails a hand at where Porter’s slouched in an armchair. “Why is it so hot.”

Porter doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Maybe ‘cause it’s summer?”

Hugo groans again and rolls over on his back, struggles out of his t-shirt and throws it on the ground. “What kind of hotel room doesn’t have air conditioning?”

Porter makes a noncommittal noise and keeps his eyes on his computer.

They’ve still got hours left till they’re meant to play at Red Rocks, almost the whole day really. Hugo was thrilled when he'd found out they were playing the same night, that they'd be able to spend a couple of days together instead of the typical few hours or maybe a day if they were lucky. He'd missed Porter a lot and he's so happy to see him.

But Porter’s been stressing about something, something to do with the show tonight that he won't go into detail about, and it's making Hugo want to take his computer away and sit in his lap and kiss his face until he stops frowning so much.

“Let’s go do something,” Hugo says instead, reaching for Porter again and tapping his knee with a fingertip. Porter finally glances up and shoots him a look.

“It’ll be hotter outside,” he warns.

“I want something cold,” says Hugo. He scrunches up his face. “What do you call them in America? The ice flavour things.”

Porter cracks a little smile. “Slushies?”

“Yeah!” Hugo grins and rolls off the bed, kneels in front of Porter. “Come get a slushie with me.”

The smile drops off Porter's face and he glances doubtfully at his computer screen, worries at his lip with his teeth.

“Please?” Hugo pouts. “It'd be good to get out for a bit. And I want to hang out with you.”

Porter huffs out a little laugh. “We are hanging out,” he says, but he’s closing his laptop a second later and Hugo grins.

Porter stops short as they get to the door and turns to side-eye Hugo.

“Are you going to put your shirt back on at least?”

“I _guess_.”

-

There's a 7/11 a couple of blocks away when Hugo googles it and it's _much_ hotter outside but Hugo refuses to admit defeat.

Porter's got his phone out, won't stop staring at it and tapping away. Hugo frowns, reaches out and hooks one finger in Porter's shorts pocket and Porter flinches and looks up.

“Hey,” Hugo says gently, smiles and gives a little tug.

Porter bites his lip. “Sorry,” he mumbles, then tucks his phone in his pocket. “Just stressing. New visuals tonight.”

Hugo lets go of Porter's pocket to reach out and link their hands together. “It'll be great,” he says, grinning. “You're always great.”

Porter goes a little pink and he ducks his head, squeezes Hugo's hand. Hugo is a little surprised when he doesn't pull away. Porter isn't usually one for public affection and Hugo bites his lip to stifle an even wider grin.

They make it to the 7/11 minutes later and slip into the blessedly air conditioned convenience store together. Porter doesn't let go of his hand until they have to pour their slushies.

Stepping back outside is like walking into a wall of heat and Hugo grimaces before slurping vigorously at his slushie.

Then… agony.

“Owwww,” he grits out, clutching at his head. “Ow ow ow!”

He hears Porter snickering next to him. “Brain freeze?”

Hugo hisses in response, can’t make words through the pain.

Porter's fingers lace through Hugo's and Hugo squints up at him. “You have to press your tongue against the roof of your mouth to make it stop,” he says, grinning.

Hugo scrunches his face up and straightens a bit, tries to keep a straight face as a thought occurs to him. “It's not working,” he groans, rubbing his knuckles into his temple. “You try.”

“What-?”

Hugo leans in and kisses Porter.

It takes a second for Porter to respond but Hugo feels him sigh against his lips and then Porter's tongue is warm against the cold palate of his mouth.

It helps, and Hugo grins when he pulls away.

Porter looks at him, mock-stern. “I'm not your personal brain unfreezer,” he mumbles, but he reaches out a moment later to link hands with Hugo again. “Come on, let's get back to the hotel.”

Hugo's face falls. “But Porter-,”

Porter turns and there's a wicked glint in his eye. “We've got a lot of slushie left. Probably one of us will get another brainfreeze.” He actually winks and Hugo starts to grin again.

“ _Nice_ ,” he says under his breath as Porter tugs him down the street.


	10. boat stopped running in the middle of a lake - polysquad

“I didn’t even want to go on a boat,” Porter mutters as he curls up tighter next to Dillon.

Hugo shoots him what Porter assumes is meant to be a sympathetic look and holds out his bottle of wine. Porter shakes his head.

“I’m already like, seasick. Lake sick. Whatever. I don’t need to add alcohol to that.”

“I’ll have some,” Anton tries from the other end of the boat. He’s got a sheepish grin on his face and Porter glares.

“Don’t give him any, Hugo, he’s the one who got us into this,” Porter snaps and Dillon snorts.

Anton makes a dismayed little sound. “How was I supposed to know the rental boat would suck?”

Porter feels Dillon shrug. “You’re the only one of us who’s ever driven a boat, personally I assumed you knew what you were doing.”

“I _thought_ I did,” Anton mutters sulkily.

“On the bright side,” Hugo starts, pausing to take a swig of wine. “It’s really nice out! And I have another bottle of wine in my bag.”

Dillon’s stomach grumbles near Porter’s ear. “Did you bring snacks?” he asks.

“Um,” the smile that Hugo manages is almost as sheepish as Anton’s. “No?”

Porter groans. “We’re gonna die out here. We’re going to starve or die of heat exhaustion or drown.”

“We could try swimming back,” Anton suggests tentatively and Porter snaps his head around.

“I say again, we are _going to die_ ,” he hisses. “It’s like a mile to shore.”

Anton purses his lips. “Well, we could have rowed back if Hugo didn’t think oars were unnecessary.”

Dillon and Porter turn to stare at Hugo. He stares back for a long moment before his mouth curls into a strained smile and he takes another sip of wine.

“There wasn’t enough room for my bag,” he mumbles. He shoots Anton a glare over Porter’s shoulder and mouths ‘ _traitor_ ’.

“Well,” Dillon says after a tense pause. “Hand over the wine, since we’re probably going to be here a while.”

Hugo passes the wine to Dillon quietly and Dillon takes a long drink. They’re all quiet for a moment. Porter dips his hand into the water and listens to it sloshing against the boat.

“Anyone wanna make out?” Dillon asks after another pause.

Hugo laughs and Porter sits up when he starts to move. “Oui, pick me!”

“Dude, _don’t_ ,” Porter hisses. “Stop moving around.”

Hugo pauses then shrugs. “I’m being careful!” He keeps moving toward the middle of the boat where Porter and Dillon are sitting and the boat rocks dangerously.

“Nope, _nope_ , fuck this, you’re going to tip the boat,” Porter exclaims. He stands up, goes to move and the next second he’s tumbling into the water.

He flails for a moment, disoriented, and then…

His feet touch the bottom.

Porter stands up and looks around. The water is barely up to his chest. Dillon, Anton, and Hugo are all staring at him.

“It’s like four feet deep,” he whispers, staring down. “What kind of fucking lake is this?”

Hugo leans over a bit to peer into the water. “Maybe we’re on a sand bar?”

Porter circles around the boat and then looks back up at them. “This lake is terrible.”

Dillon starts cackling. “How’s the water? Apart from incredibly shallow.”

Porter shoots him a dirty look and wades back over. “Fuck yourself, Dillon.”

“Maybe you can tow the boat back?” Anton asks through his giggles and Porter grits his teeth.

He plasters a sweet smile onto his face and leans his arms on the edge of the boat, tilts his head and blinks innocently up at Anton. “I will if you kiss me first.”

Anton grins and immediately leans down when Porter reaches up to cup his face. And then Porter yanks him out of the boat and into the water.

Anton comes up sputtering and Porter finds himself cackling with Dillon and Hugo. It looks like Anton’s angry for a moment and then he starts laughing too.

“I probably deserved that,” he says, pushing his wet hair off his forehead. He grins at Porter. “How about that kiss?”

Porter rolls his eyes and wades over, lets Anton tug him in and press their mouths together.

“Man, now I feel left out,” he hears Dillon say, and then there’s a pair of splashes and when Porter opens his eyes - and he doesn’t really remember closing them but to be fair Anton is a really excellent kisser - Hugo and Dillon are in the water with them.

They’re all fully clothed and Hugo is clambering up on Dillon’s back and Dillon nearly falls over with an indignant squawk but they manage to stay upright and Porter shakes his head. Anton snickers in his ear and kisses his damp cheek.

“Guess we’re all walking back,” says Anton, and Porter can feel him smiling against his skin.

“This is stupid,” Porter mutters, but he’s laughing when he says it.


	11. burnt dinner while barbecuing and forgot the potato salad in the car - dillton

Dillon’s having a hard time focusing today.

Generally having your very cute, very shirtless boyfriend splashing around in your pool will do that, he supposes. He'd been a little apprehensive about the barbecue at first, having Tanner and Nick and Vinnie and Kyle all meeting Anton and Arkadi. Everyone knows he's been dating Anton for months now but this is the first time they're all coming together in the same place.

Anton glances up from the pool and grins at him, wiggles his fingers in a little wave. Dillon smiles dopily and waves back.

“Dude, are they supposed to be that… uh… dark?”

Dillon jumps and looks up to see Tanner staring down at the barbecue.

“What?” Dillon looks down. Each and every glorious hamburger - that he'd made by hand, painstakingly - has become a tiny lump of coal on the grill.

Dillon makes a tiny sound of despair. “Shit,” he says, and Tanner snickers. Dillon clicks off the barbecue.

“You’re gonna need another one of these, I think,” Tanner says. He shoves a beer can in Dillon’s hand and turns to wander off to the pool where Vinnie and Kyle are starting a chicken fight against Arkadi and Nick, of all people.

Dillon stares down at his sad, sad hamburgers and drains half his beer in one go.

“Hello,” says Anton’s voice. Dillon turns to stare vacantly at his dripping boyfriend smiling up at him. “You okay?”

Dillon sighs dramatically. “I’m okay. The burgers aren't.”

Anton giggles. “I see that,” he says. He plucks the beer out of Dillon’s hand and takes a sip. “You have hot dogs in the fridge, I think. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad someone knows what I have around the house,” Dillon says, rolling his eyes and leaning in to kiss Anton’s cheek.

When he pulls away Anton looks abruptly horrified.

Dillon blinks at him. “What’s uh, what’s wrong?”

Anton stares wide-eyed into the middle distance. “I… forgot something…”

-

They stand next to Anton’s car staring for a long few minutes. Anton’s potato salad is sitting innocently in the back seat.

“I’m kind of scared to open the door,” Anton says weakly. Dillon nods.

“It might still be okay,” Dillon says doubtfully. “Maybe.” It’s easily a hundred degrees outside and Dillon’s pretty sure he can see the potato salad bubbling.

Anton exhales loudly and paws at the window. “It probably smells awful in there. What do I do?”

“Get a new car,” Dillon says, deadpan. He’s mostly joking. Mostly.

Anton groans. “Should I just open it? Maybe we can still…” He trails off and stares despondently into the car. “My poor potato salad.”

Dillon pats his back consolingly.

“We have hot dogs,” he says eventually. “And beer. Lots of beer.”

Anton turns his face into Dillon’s chest and sighs heavily. “Beer sounds good.”

Dillon wraps an arm around Anton’s shoulders and smirks. “There’s plenty of other things I’d rather be eating anyway.”

“Oh my god,” Anton cackles before shoving Dillon away and taking off back to the yard.


	12. sitting outside watching the stars - porton

“Can I take you somewhere?”

Porter looks up from where he’s pulling on his underwear back on. Anton’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He’s still shirtless, with his jeans hanging low on his hips. His eyes are glittering in the lamp light and Porter quirks an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it after midnight?” Porter asks, straightening to look around for his shirt.

Anton’s in his space a moment later, Porter’s t-shirt in hand. He gets an arm around Porter’s waist, reels Porter in so that they’re chest to chest.

“I wanna show you something,” he murmurs. Porter can feel his breath against his skin and he sighs and closes his eyes. Anton noses at his cheek, lays a little kiss there.

“Yeah, okay,” Porter says before tilting his head and kissing the corner of Anton’s mouth. “Can I shower first?”

Anton hums and his arms tighten around Porter’s waist. “I kind of like it when you smell like me,” he says with a wicked little smile.

Porter rolls his eyes but smiles and kisses Anton again anyway.

-

Anton drives them up into the hills and drags Porter up a steep hiking trail. Thankfully the moon is full and bright and lights the way just enough that Porter isn’t particularly worried about missing a step and tumbling down the hill.

“Just over here,” Anton calls from up at the top of the incline. Porter shakes his head and clambers up the last stretch of trail, has to haul himself up on a root.

When he’s finally up and over he sees it’s a cliff, or some kind of outlook. A few scraggly trees are coming out of the rocks and Porter runs his fingers across their rough bark as he makes his way to Anton.

“Check it out,” Anton says, grinning over his shoulder and gesturing for Porter to come closer.

Porter goes to him and sucks in a little breath.

The whole city is laid out in front of them, glimmering like a sprawling cluster of jewels. When he looks at the sky a few stars are visible even through the light pollution.

“It’s really beautiful,” Porter says quietly, and he can’t keep the awe out of his voice. It really is beautiful; it’s so quiet up here, almost like home.

“It’s my favourite place,” says Anton. Porter can see him staring out at the city in his peripheral vision. “I wanted to share it with you.”

Anton’s hand touches his and Porter automatically winds their fingers together. “Thank you,” Porter whispers. Anton squeezes his hand.

It’s so quiet. Porter breathes in the humid night air and leans his shoulder against Anton’s.

“Hey,” Anton says. His voice is soft enough that it isn’t jarring when it breaks the silence. “Thank you, too.” Porter glances at him.

“For what?”

Anton smiles and it’s such a warm thing. “I know how much you hate LA. I appreciate you coming to visit me.”

Porter ducks his head. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he mumbles. He can feel his cheeks heating. “I’d go all the way to, like, Siberia to see you.”

Anton barks out a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They’re both quiet for another moment, just standing there hand in hand staring out at the night sky and the sprawl of lights that is the city.

“Hey,” Anton says again, tugging at Porter’s hand.

Porter hums, distracted by the view. Anton shuffles in a little closer.

“I love you, you know,” Anton says. Porter can hear the smile in his voice before he turns to look.

“I love you too,” Porter mumbles with a smile of his own, then leans in to kiss Anton’s grinning lips. 


	13. balancing on one foot because a flipflop broke while on the hot asphalt - portzo

“Fuck, my shoe!”

Mat looks up from his phone. Porter is bent double pulling one of his - almost new, Mat’s sure he’ll be reminded in moments - sandals off his foot.

“I _just_ bought these,” Porter groans, teetering on one foot and gesturing wildly with the broken shoe. Mat rolls his eyes.

“I know,” he says patiently. “I was there.”

Porter glares at him and winces when he tries to put his bare foot on the street. “Jesus, oh my god, it’s hot.”

“Here,” says Mat, slipping an arm around Porter’s waist. “It’s not far to my apartment.”

Porter exhales loudly through his nose but doesn’t say anything. They walk in silence for almost a full block until Porter frowns at him.

“That’s the last time I take fashion advice from you,” he grumbles, and Mat stops.

“Excuse me?” he says. He can’t help the way his voice goes icy cold. “You’re blaming me for this?”

Porter huffs angrily. “ _You’re_ the one who told me they looked good. _You’re_ the one who said I should buy them.”

Mat doesn’t say anything, just gapes at Porter.

“You wear track pants with flip flops for fuck’s sake,” Porter mutters. “What was I thinking?”

Mat very carefully extricates himself from under Porter’s arm and takes a few steps away. Porter watches him with wide eyes.

“Wait, what are you doing?” He’s wobbling on one foot now, arms out to his sides for balance.

“I mean you don’t need me, do you?” Mat says acidly. “Why would you need help from someone who wears _track pants and flip flops_?”

Porter shoots Mat a nervous smile. “Mat, the sidewalk is so hot, come on.”

“Guess you’ll have to find some grass to walk on,” Mat snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “Have fun getting back.” He turns and starts to walk away.

“Wait! Mat, wait, I’m sorry,” Porter says desperately and Mat can hear his single shoe slapping against the pavement as he tries to hop along after him. Mat turns.

“Are you _really_ sorry?” he says lowly, glaring.

Porter grins, still a little nervous and a lot pleading. “I am. I’m sorry! Please help?”

Mat watches him impassively for a moment before taking a few steps toward Porter, stops in front of him and uncrosses his arms. Porter sways, hard won balance wavering. Mat reaches out with one finger and presses it to Porter’s chest, stares up at him dangerously.

“You’re not going to blame me anymore? For you buying a pair of $100 sandals that broke?”

Porter nods wildly. “Mat, please-,”

Mat jabs him in the chest and Porter yelps, tilts a bit, windmills his arms to stay upright.

“Say it. Say ‘the shoes were my own fault and my boyfriend’s fashion sense is impeccable’.” Mat feels his mouth curl into a smirk. He can’t help it.

Porter groans. “Mat-,”

“ _Say it_.”

“The shoes were my own fault and my boyfriend’s fashion sense is impeccable!”

It sounds like it’s physically painful for him to say and Mat grins and opens his arms. Porter makes a wounded noise and falls forward, leaning heavily on Mat.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it,” Mat snickers, patting Porter’s side as he adjusts him on his shoulder.

“It _was_ ,” Porter groans into his shirt. “Oh my god, you’re evil.”

Mat snorts and turns his head to press an innocent kiss to Porter’s temple, then whispers in his ear, “you’re one to talk about fashion. Your long t-shirts are _stupid_.”

Porter slaps his ass with his broken shoe and Mat laughs the rest of the walk home.


	14. lighting fireworks and caught the neighbour’s bushes on fire - garob

“Right, first of all.”

Gaz flinches at Rob's tone and grins up at him sheepishly. “Rob-,”

“ _First_ of all.”

Gaz goes quiet and Rob watches him narrowly.

“You realize we are in the middle of a drought,” Rob says eventually. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Gaz mumbles.

“There are restrictions on water usage.”

“Yep.”

“It hasn't rained in nearly a month.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Gareth,” hisses Rob, and Gaz cowers. “There is quite literally _a ban on fireworks_.”

The still flaming bush behind Gaz crackles and Gaz flinches again. Neither of them say anything for a moment.

“Rob, love,” Gaz starts, getting his hands up in what he hopes is a placating way. “It was a surprise, you know-,”

“Oh, I'm surprised alright-,”

“Wait! Wait,” Gaz waves his arms a bit desperately. “It was a surprise for you, for our anniversary.”

Rob stares at him.

Gaz barrels on. He knows he's got Rob's attention. He can still salvage this. “Remember that time I set off fireworks when we were in high school? To get your attention? I thought it would be…” He waves his hand around, looking for the word.

“Sweet?” says Rob slowly. Gaz can’t read anything dangerous in his voice so he grins.

“Yeah, that,” he says, a little smug.

Rob very slowly uncrosses his arms and comes over to Gaz. The nearly doused fire in the bushes is reflecting in his eyes and Gaz’s heart is in his throat. He loves Rob. He loves him so much.

Rob leans in and Gaz’s eyelids droop. He can feel his lips pursing instinctively and he starts to reach out to get his hands on Rob’s hips.

“Our anniversary is next week, you absolute twat,” Rob murmurs.

Gaz feels the blood drain from his face and his eyes go wide. He laughs nervously. “Is it really? I could have sworn-,”

“You’re an idiot,” says Rob, stepping around Gaz and carefully stomping out the remaining flames. Gaz watches him in a daze.

When Rob stands back the bushes look very pathetic and very dead. Gaz maybe finds them a little relatable.

“No hiding this,” Rob mumbles. He sticks his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. Gaz scuffs his shoe in the dirt.

“I made dinner,” he says miserably. Rob looks at him over his shoulder and cocks his eyebrow.

“Lasagna?”

Gaz nods and makes a point of staring at the ground.

He jumps a little when Rob slides an arm around his shoulders. “I love your lasagna,” Rob says.

“I love _you_ ,” Gaz says hopefully and Rob snorts.

“Alright, alright. You're just being pathetic now.” He kisses Gaz's cheek and the arm around his shoulders tightens a bit. “Let's go eat, you knob.”

Oh well. He tried.


	15. trying to make a bonfire but it won’t light - polysquad+mat + garob

“Do you think we should help?” Porter asks doubtfully from his perch on a log.

Mat shrugs and takes another hit off his joint. He’s feeling pleasantly heavy, a little sleepy. Can’t really bring himself to care about the shouting a little ways down the beach.

“The wood they grabbed was wet,” he says, words coming out in a cloud of smoke. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Porter hums disapprovingly and waves the pot smoke away from his face. Mat grins up at him sheepishly.

“Gimme some more,” Hugo mumbles from where he’s laying in the sand. Mat passes over the joint and Hugo takes a long drag.

They all go quiet for a few minutes, watching Anton and Dillon attempting to light the bonfire. It looks like Anton’s mostly just standing there with his arms crossed irritably while Dillon tries to light a match. He keeps dropping them, Mat notes idly, letting out a little scream every time he gets one to light and then flailing it away into the sand. Anton’s growl of frustration is loud enough that Mat can hear it from where they’re sitting.

“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll all be together until September,” Hugo says quietly, passing the joint back to Mat. He’s really quite stoned, and maybe Mat should’ve warned him that this strain was stronger than his usual stuff but he can’t really bring himself to care. It doesn’t matter now anyway.

“We’ll see each other before then,” Porter says firmly and Mat leans his head against Porter’s knee. A hand comes up automatically to card through his hair and Mat closes his eyes, smiles a bit wider.

Hugo’s right, of course. Mat’s flying to London in a couple of days to visit his dad, Hugo himself is going to visit family in France. Anton’s off to Germany to see his brother and his parents. Dillon and Porter will be staying in town but, well, Hugo is right. They won’t all see each other like this until school starts again.

Mat frowns and stares down at the joint in his hand. It’s gone out, now, and he doesn’t bother lighting it up again. Porter’s nails scratch at his scalp.

Hugo sighs and rolls over onto his hands and knees and crawls a little closer, flops down with his head in Mat’s lap. “I’ll miss you guys,” he says, blinking lazily up at Mat and Porter. Mat ruffles his hair.

“Just a couple of months.” Mat manages a smile as he says it. He’s going to miss them too, so much. He’s excited to see his old friends that he grew up with but it’s hard, thinking that he’s not going to see any of his boyfriends - and that’s what they are, he’s always so awed realizing that he has four people who love and care about him and that he loves and cares about in return - for two whole months.

Porter sniffs above him and it shakes him out of his thoughts. When he looks up Porter’s lip is quivering.

“Aw, come on,” Mat says, bumping his head against Porter’s knee. “At least wait until we all have to say goodbye to cry.”

“I’m not _crying_ ,” Porter snaps, but Mat catches him scrubbing away a tear a second later. He doesn’t say anything about it, just leans a little more firmly up against Porter’s leg. Porter winds his fingers in his hair again and they go back to watching Dillon struggle with the matches.

Anton’s stomping in their direction now and Dillon is shouting after him but Anton just drops to sit on the log next to Porter.

“I want nothing to do with this,” he grumbles. Porter pats his shoulder consolingly.

“ _Guys_ ,” Dillon is whining as he approaches. “This is _hard_. The outdoors is _hard_.”

Hugo shorts and Mat glances down at him, grinning up at the sky and then at Mat. “ _Hard_ ,” he says, then dissolves into giggles. Mat snickers and has to turn his face into Porter’s knee to calm himself down.

“You two are so immature,” Dillon sniffs, kicking sulkily at the sand.

“Are we not having a fire then?” Porter asks. His voice is still a bit wobbly, Mat notes.

Dillon looks uncertainly back at the pile of driftwood they’ve gathered. “I’ve only got like four matches left and I think the wood is damp,” he says eventually. “I could like, set my jacket on fire…”

“Your incredibly expensive leather jacket?” Mat asks, looking away from Dillon for a moment to consider the joint in his hand. Dillon makes a frustrated noise and Mat lights up again.

Hugo hums in his lap. “Gimme,” he mumbles, tugging at Mat’s t-shirt.

Mat grins at him. “There’s not much left,” he says. “But I can share.”

He takes a hit and then hunches over, presses his lips to Hugo’s and exhales. He can feel Hugo smiling against his lips and he can’t help smiling too.

“You two are awful and gross and I’m jealous,” Dillon says wistfully. “I wish my summer job didn’t do piss tests.”

Mat pulls away and Hugo exhales a cloud of smoke and they both watch it drift away into the night air. “Better luck next year,” Mat shrugs.

“Do I smell _weed_?”

They all jump a bit and twist around to look. A couple people are coming closer and it takes a minute for Mat to realize that they’re students from their school. Or former students, anyway. Gaz steps over the log and grins down at Mat.

“Sup, Zohar, got any more green?”

Mat shrugs and gestures with his roach. “I’ve got one more. You got cash?”

Rob snorts from where he’s swinging one leg over the log and sitting down. “Gaz? With cash? You must be joking.”

Gaz shoots him a wounded look. “Rude.” He sticks his tongue out and then sits down in the sand next to Mat. “What’re you all doing out here anyway?”

“Trying to have a bonfire,” Anton mutters sulkily. “Dillon brought like, one book of matches, so it’s not going well. As you can see.”

Gaz brightens. “Well as it happens - and don’t ask me why - I happen to have a whole bottle of lighter fluid with me!” He tugs said bottle out of his pocket and shakes it next to his ear, listens to the slosh of liquid inside.

Mat stares at him and opens his mouth to ask, then thinks better of it.

Dillon practically leaps over. “Oh my god, you’re a _lifesaver_ -,”

“Ah, ah,” Gaz holds the bottle away. “What’ll you give me for it?”

“Jesus Christ,” Rob snorts, then suddenly he’s snatching the bottle out of Gaz’s hand, much to Gaz’s dismay. “I’ll help you start your bloody fire. Give my awful boyfriend a hit off your next joint or something.”

Gaz whines wordlessly but settles in next to Mat and they watch Rob stalk off, Dillon and Anton following hesitantly a moment later.

“I guess I should probably help them,” Gaz mumbles.

Mat carefully pulls a second joint out of his jacket pocket and holds it up. “You can have this one,” he says. Gaz takes it, looks at him like he’d just given him the holy grail. “Thanks for the lighter fluid.”

“You’re the best, kid,” Gaz grins, standing and ruffling Mat’s hair before bounding off after Rob. It’s quiet again, apart from Gaz and Dillon cheering Rob on as he douses the stack of wood in lighter fluid. Anton is staying a healthy distance away and Mat smiles. Hugo snores quietly in his lap. Mat wonders when he fell asleep.

Porter makes a soft little sniffling sound again and Mat glances up at him. He’s staring down the beach, mouth tight, chin wobbling.

“Hey,” says Mat gently, curling one hand around Porter’s ankle. “It’s just two months.”

Porter looks down at him and his eyes are sad. “I’ll miss you.”

Mat smiles up at him. “I’ll miss you too. You’ll have Dillon though, and I promise I’ll Skype.”

Porter gets his hand back in Mat’s hair and leaves it there. Mat can feel him trembling and he leans his head against his thigh.

“Okay,” Porter murmurs eventually. “Yeah, okay.”

The stack of wood goes up in flames a moment later and Gaz, Anton, Dillon and even Rob all let out little whoops of excitement. Hugo snorts awake in Mat’s lap.

“Wha’d I miss,” he slurs blearily, sitting up and rubbing at his face. “Where are we, what year is it?”

Mat dissolves into laughter and even Porter giggles until Hugo stops looking so confused and grins up at them dopily.

“Let’s go check out the fire,” Porter says, and then he’s standing, offering his hands to Hugo and Mat to pull them up.

Porter doesn’t let go of his hand the whole time and Mat thinks that this is a good way to end the school year. A good way to start the summer, even if he won’t see his boyfriends again until September.

He squeezes Porter’s hand and Porter squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks!! thanks for sticking with me through this journey of drabbles. if you've got a tumblr come on down and say hi or send in a drabble request sometime! i'm at hellalujah over there as well.
> 
> xoxo


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